


The way of freedom

by SlyKing



Series: Good Omens Soulmates AU (english) [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Aziraphale is Ezra Fell, Aziraphale is a noble, Character Death, Crowley is Anthony Crowley, Crowley is a revolutionary, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Nightmares, One dies but their souls are reincarnated, Reincarnation, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:20:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24667495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlyKing/pseuds/SlyKing
Summary: September 2, 1792. One night, at the heart of the French Revolution, Antoine Crolais, a young revolutionary, visits Aziraphale de la Fléchère, a noble prisoner in Prison de la Force.Or: where Anthony Crowley dreams of the French Revolution and a version of himself he doesn’t remember.In this Alternative Universe, Aziraphale and Crowley are soulmates; they reincarnate at different times and always find each other.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Soulmates AU (english) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783558
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	The way of freedom

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to report any mistake, english isn't my first langage. ♥

**_* September 2, 1792 - Paris *_ **

In the streets, it was chaos. Paris looked more like a battlefield than the prosperous city it was once. The situation gave way to disorder and conflict, but the worst was the smell. A rotten smell clinging to clothes and made the air dirty. Antoine had not expected such a debacle. He wanted things to change, of course, but at what cost ? All these deaths were unnecessary. This was not what he dreamed of taking part in the Revolution. A dictatorship that replaced an other, a bloody barbarism… And, worse than anything, Aziraphale was once of the prisoners. He had not wanted to leave Paris, persuaded that the events would slow down, saying that he was not in conflict with the people. And Antoine had not managed to convince him. What a stubborn ! Antoine knew him well, but others did not. They knew nothing of his kindness and concern. To them he was only a noble among many, and the prevailing hate demanded to see his execution. Antoine had tried to plead his case but his voice didn’t weigh enough at the Assembly. There was nothing he could do, so, with a knot in his stomach, he went to the Prison de la Force. He had obtained a right of passage by licking the boots of Paul Hastur, promising him to fill out papers for him (this man had a pig’s handwriting and hated the least administrative formula).  
With nostalgia, he thought of Aziraphale who taught him to write. Until then, Antoine had never considered it necessary to know how to write. His manual job did not require knowledge of the alphabet. Yet Aziraphale had taken the time to teach him what he knew with disarming indulgence, without judgement or condescension. These days seems far behind them, know…

When he entered the prison doors, it was about one o'clock in the morning. Antoine’s heart beat so hard against his chest that his ears began to hum. He went to the cell in which Aziraphale was held prisoner ; he was alone, looking miserable, sitting on the cold and unclean stone. This vision tore Antony apart as he approached the bars. In a very gentle voice, he called the man he loved. Aziraphale straightened his head ; he seemed lost, helpless, and yet a joyful glow lit in the depths of his bluish gaze when he saw Antoine’s silhouette. He came as close as he could : irons bound his wrists and ankles.

“Antoine ? What are you doing here ?” he asked him in a voice that loneliness had made hoarse.”'You should not take that risk,” he added.  
Antoine shrugged his shoulders.  
“I am not the one who is at the greatest risk,” he whispered. “I told you to leave Paris!”

Aziraphale offered him a smile so sweet that Antoine looked away. He could not remove the anger that growled in him, but who was he most angry with ? Aziraphale, who always did what he wanted, or him who had not succeeded in convincing him to leave ?  
“Everything is going to be fine,” Aziraphale told him. At these words, Antoine glanced at him furiously.  
“It’s going to be okay!? Aziraphale! You’re going to… You’re going to be **executed!** If you stay alive until then, of course. This is crazy out there, do you know it? Since the _Manifeste de Brunswick_ there have been more and more rumors about the invasion of the Prussians; some fear that the royalists will regain power. They’re killing people, Aziraphale. Yesterday they killed twenty-four priests in the street !”

Aziraphale seemed shocked by the news; he suddenly appeared tiny and miserable behind the gate of his cell. The rage took a form of despair in Antony’s heart. He would have liked to be able to open the door and help Aziraphale escape but he did not know how to do it.  
“ _Mon cher_ …” Aziraphale began by plunging his eyes into those of Antoine. “Maybe I should have listened to you, but it’s too late to complain about what could have been prevented. The revolt is rumbling in other cities, we cannot be sure that evil would have been avoided elsewhere. And I am far too attached to Paris to think of leaving it cowardly.”  
“Cowardly … ? Aziraphale… You are so stupid! Shit!”  
“Watch your language, _mon cher._ ” Antoine’s fingers closed around Aziraphale’s hand.  
"I don’t want to be alone, Aziraphale!"

This revelation caused a heavy silence between them. They were hardly eloquent, silenced by a society that reproached their love in every way, so they never openly told themselves how much they cared about each other. Looking serious, Aziraphale set his eyes on Antoine with a very special affection and an infinite sadness.

“I know.” he said, because he knew. He could not stand the loneliness that Antony’s death would have caused him.  
“Let me take your place!” the young revolutionary exclaimed. Aziraphale raised his eyebrow before letting a laugh escape.  
“Oh, Antoine, even if it were plausible do you really think I would let you do it? Certainly not.”  
“Why didn’t you listen to me?” Antoine rumbled as he walked away from the cell to pace up and down. Aziraphale looked at him silently, mute in front of the anger of his lover. He shook his head without finding the words that could have soothed him. Nothing could comfort their wounded souls.

In the distance, in the street, cries were heard, closer and closer. Antoine stopped his mad march and straightened his head, tense. He rushed to one of the interstices, into the corridor, to visualize the scrap. In the distance, a group of revolutionaries was approaching. They were numerous, and armed. Antoine retreated and rushed towards Aziraphale’s cell.

“We have to get you out of here. Right now.”  
“What is going on?”  
“I think...I think they’re coming to kill the prisoners.”

An air of horror appeared on Aziraphale’s face as Antoine struggled to find a solution. He did not have the keys to the cells… He could always try to steal it from the guards, but wouldn’t it be too late? He briefly shook Aziraphale’s hand before moving away.

“I’ll try to find a way. Don’t move… Yes. Granted, the thinking is stupid.” He growled before rushing down the corridor, his heart beating faster than ever.

He hurried down the stairs that led to the guards' room. As he opened the door, he heard a deaf rumble upstairs. Cries. Much anger, rage and indignation. So he changed his mind in his quest and went up the steps as quickly as possible. At the top of the stairs he was welcomed by a disturbing vision. In all other circumstances, perhaps he could have found it beautiful. The people rose up to free themselves from the shackles of an unjust society. But on that night of September 2, 1792, Antoine Crolais was afraid.  
He rushed into the crowd and his hand closed on Jean Ligur’s arm.

“What’s going on?”  
“Ah! Antoine! Don’t you know? We came to kill those dogs that lie in our prisons before the royalists get the upper hand. We will show France that the people are in charge now!”  
“By killing people?”  
“This is the way of Freedom.”

Antoine, shocked, caught the weapon which Jean put in his hands before following the movement, pushed by fear. He rushed to Aziraphale’s cell, mixed with a crowd overflowing with rage. He heard screams, gunshots, the sound of chains against the stone. He felt the smell of torches mingling with the smell of blood. Again this stench. Always the same. The corpses. Death.

That was not Freedom.

With the force of despair, Antoine made his way through the middle of the massacre. When he joined Aziraphale, the cell was open. Two armed men had cornered him against the wall, ready to shoot him. Antoine did not think. A detonation sounded. Then a second. The bullets had hit the two men who had fallen to the ground. Antoine breath was wheezing, and he was tetanized, his eyes focused on the two revolutionaries he had just shot. Anxious, he raised his eyes to Azirapahle, who looked at him, shocked. Antoine approached him to try to undo his chains. Around them the horror continued, but, for the young man, the time had stopped. His nails broke on the iron which he tried, in vain, to distort and break it.  
Finally two hands caught his wrists and his knees hit the ground. He straightened his head and his eyes met Aziraphale. He hung on for a moment to this ocean of sweetness. Then, suddenly, a gunshot sounded between the walls of the cell. Aziraphale froze, her angelic face distorted by a grimace of pain. Antoine looked helplessly at life leaving the eyes of the man he loved. His body slipped on the ground, inert.

**_“Aziraphale !”_ **

**_* Nowadays *_ **

**  
_“Aziraphale!”_  
**

A sob escaped from Anthony’s lips and he sprang up in his blankets. Where was he? _Aziraphale_ , where was he? Fear and anguish hit his stomach so hard that a retching escaped him. With a trembling hand, he tried to remove the sheet. _I have to save him_. Tears rolled down his cheeks as his helplessness terrified him. He could not get out of the thrills of his dream. Loss. Agony. Pain. It suffocated.

“Azira… Azi…” he tried to articulate without success, lost between two memories.

And while endless abysses engulfed him in a whirlwind of horror, powerful arms surrounded his waist. Rooted to the spot, dragged into a strong embrace, Anthony let out an unarmed cry. He tried for a moment to struggle, to escape these arms that prevented him from moving, but a voice, distant, familiar, calm and soothing slows down his desperate rage. He couldn’t grasp the scattered words uttered near his ear but the tone employed reassured him. With a frantic gesture, Anthony hung on to this sound and buried his face against the reassuring smell of sugar and hot chocolate. He closed his eyes.

“I am sorry.” he said. “I am sorry.”

He felt a hand breaks through the curls of his hair and, little by little, the movements calmed him down. His tears dried up and only a few sniffs remained, punctuated by relentless _I am sorry_.

“Ssh. Everything is fine, my dear.” repeated this familiar voice. So familiar…  
“Ezra…” finally murmured Anthony as he closed his hands around his partner. His fingers compulsively clung to the fabric of his pajamas.  
“I am here. Everything is fine.”

A relieved sigh escaped from Anthony’s lips. The lonely and lost part of his being was regaining its half. Again, he was complete. A long shiver ran down his spine as he finally calmed down. With infinite tenderness, Ezra took his face between his fingers and kissed his forehead. Anthony closed his eyes, letting the feeling of warmth spread through him and finished reassuring him.

“A nightmare?” 

Ezra asked him gently. Anthony nodded his head and lay under the blanket to drop off his head on his companion’s lap. A little embarrassed by his childish behavior, he needed comfort; he huddled up against Ezra who resumed the caresses in his hair. 

“Do you want to tell me about it ?”

Anthony hesitated for a moment before nodding a second time. He took a moment to calibrate his emotions and the images that remained in his mind, as vivid as a real memory.

“You… Well, it wasn’t really you, someone very much like you… He was a prisoner and I… I came to see him. It was during the French Revolution and he was going to be executed. And then a group of revolutionaries came in and.... It was.... Terrible. A massacre. They were killing everyone… And there was nothing I could do… I-I wanted… I wanted to help you… help him… It was… I saw you... _Him_ die,” he whispered, snuggling more into Ezra’s arms. “He looked so much like you, Ezra… I… If anything happened to you because of me…” new tears began in his eyes. The memory of loss left him a feeling of emptiness and inconsolable loneliness.

“Nothing will happen to me, Anthony.” Ezra’s voice was sweet but firm. “And certainly not because of you. It was just a dream. I’m here and I’m fine. I’m not going anywhere..”  
“Yes I know. It’s stupid.” Anthony grumbled, casting away his new tears with an annoying gesture. He tried to stand up, but Ezra kept him against him.

“It’s not stupid. Sometimes I’m scared too. I feel like if I had to lose you, I would lose a part of myself.” he blew on the tone of confidence.

Anthony raised his head in his direction and his face softened. He returned in the warmth of his embrace and laid a tender kiss on his lips. They both went under the covers, in each other’s arms, taking advantage of a moment of tenderness to calm their respective fears and let their love reassure them. The images of the dream gradually faded in Anthony’s mind. 

“SorryIwokeyou.”

Anthony had uttered the phrase without articulating or breathing, embarrassed by his behaviour and by the apology he felt obliged to express aloud.

“You’re going to have to repeat it, I didn’t hear you.”  
Anthony smiled in the corner, that bastard was laughing at him, isn’t he ?  
“You heard very well.”  
“I’m sure I don’t!”  
“Asshole.” Anthony felt Ezra’s smile on him and he sighed. Ezra laid a kiss on his forehead, then on his cheek, and finally on the tip of his nose.  
“It wasn’t your fault. And it doesn’t matter.”  
“Mmh. But you’re already having trouble sleeping, I…”  
“Ssh. You scared me, you know. You looked completely lost and panicked.”  
“Mmh. M’sorry.”  
Ezra shook his head.  
"It must have been a terrible dream."  
'Yeah.' Anthony’s body shivered. “It looked so real.”  
“Luckily it wasn’t, I don’t feel like getting executed.”

A light laugh escaped them and Anthony closed his eyes. Soothed by Ezra’s caresses in his hair, sleep gained him again, little by little. This time, no dream disturbed his sleep, guarded by the arms of his partner who was watching over him.


End file.
